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by
John Gwynne
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December 28, 2024 - February 3, 2025
‘Anyone here fault our Queen’s judgement?’ Again, silence. ‘Good. As it should be.
I had to see the boy.’ ‘But you said we would not see you again, until the time. The danger–what if you were followed?’ Gwenith said, her voice rising. ‘Peace,’ Meical muttered, holding a hand up. ‘I know your concerns. I felt them myself, but I had to see him–to know he was safe.
His mam’s grip tightened. ‘Time passes too quickly.’ She rested her head against his waist, and he stroked her hair. ‘I love you,’ she whispered.
His eyes looked up into hers, blinked once and then became dull, sightless.
‘That may well be,’ Brenin said, ‘when you are in your own hall, your own kingdom. But I would remind you that you are a guest here, not king. And in my hall, my kingdom, I will do things as I please. And it does not please me to have others question my people. That is a task I reserve for myself, or those I deem appropriate.’